


It Goes Like This

by Brightest_Moonstone



Series: they're playing our song... [3]
Category: Sly Cooper (Video Games)
Genre: Copious Feelings, F/M, Feelings, Not all of them good, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 04:11:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12004740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brightest_Moonstone/pseuds/Brightest_Moonstone
Summary: The movement of the curtain in the still night caught Carmelita’s eye and she turned, Sly froze pinned under her gaze. She was wearing her pyjamas, a loose black singlet and shorts, her hair swept up into a messy bun, her skin flushed. Sly didn’t think he had ever wanted anything, no treasure, no prize from a job, nothing, not even the pages of the Thievius as much as he wanted her right now.He needed to leave, fight or flight was screaming at him to run but he wanted to stay, longed to, burned to.Carmelita was looking at him, eyes very dark. She hadn’t immediately leapt for a weapon, hadn’t screamed his name, just looked. He wondered if that was a good sign.Finally she spoke, “well are you coming in or not?”





	It Goes Like This

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, once again if you've just joined us this work is a sequel to two of my other fics 'Strangers in a Crowded Place' and 'Take This City' it is HIGHLY recommended you read those first as events that occur in them lead directly into what happens in here.
> 
> p.s  
> I am still trash
> 
> I still offer no apologies 
> 
> And please check out Mayurei's amazing art for this series  
> It begins  
> Poor Carmelita  
> She's just not happy right now  
> Or is she?

Sly woke, not for the first time with the phantom feeling of a mouth on his body and the memory of hands caressing him. He groaned loudly, running a hand down his face, this had been fun at first but now he was wondering if someone could actually die from sexual frustration. In the dream, he’d been with Carmelita in that storeroom in London but she’d been wearing her yellow dress from the club and this time there had been no one to interrupt them.

It only made it worse that he’d seen her a few times since that job in London but see her was all he’d been able to do. The last job they’d done, when Carmelita had shown up Murray had grabbed Sly by the tail and thrown him into the van.

“Hey what was that for?” He’d protested, nursing his head from where he’d collided with the seats.

“You keep going off plan.” Bentley had scolded him, “and you’ve been weird around Inspector Fox lately. Even for you.”

He hadn’t actually been able to argue with that. Carmelita’s latest strategy to catch him had become a peculiar game of flirtation, and normally he’d be delighted that she was finally playing along but he hadn’t expected her to be so good at it.  
Knowing how it felt to have her body against his, the feel of her and the noises she made in the back of his mind made every time she so much as looked at him painful.

The damn woman was going to kill him.

Sly’s head flopped to the side, the orange glow of evening could be seen around the edges of his curtains. It was still so hot though, the sticky, muggy Parisian summer clinging to him like a second skin. He sighed, he needed a shower. 

A very long, very cold shower.

 

“Evening pal,” Sly wandered through the living room, skirting the edges of Bentley’s latest project that was strewn all over the floor.

Bentley waved an absent-minded hand in greeting.

“Where’s Murray?”

“The aquatic centre.” Bentley replied, holding up a piece of circuitry to the light. “Do not just have ice cream for breakfast!” Without even turning his head, he pointed an accusing finger at Sly. 

Sly paused, one hand reaching into the freezer. “Don’t worry Bentley it’s not ice cream.” Not technically anyway. He said helping himself to a popsicle. He looked out the window, “I might go for a run once the sun goes down.”

Bentley hummed in response, tinkering with the board in his hands.

Sly watched the lights of Paris come to life under the riotous colours of the sunset sky. Maybe this would help him clear his mind, help him put aside the incredibly distracting memories of Carmelita. Help him get back to normal, he hoped.

 

There was no respite from the heat, it was just as oppressive, just as impossible to ignore at midnight as it had been at noon. Sly longed for a breeze, something to ruffle his hair and cool his brow. It was a good night for a run under heavy clouds and with no moon, he was just another dark shadow in the night. It was almost perfect. He had no destination in mind as he ran, leaping and swinging across the city. He loved Paris, loved the beautiful, ancient sprawl of it. He passed familiar locations, the Louvre, the old site of Dimitri’s club, the rail yard where his gang had set up their first safe house. He didn’t linger. Restless and desperate to keep moving, fighting a losing battle to outrun a feeling.

He came to a stop on a rooftop, panting slightly. He was burning and he could not blame the summer night. He tipped his head back, should he keep going? Head back to the safe house?

A sound drifted up to him and he realised just where he had stopped.

Oh God!

He hadn’t even thought. His stupid, traitorous legs had brought him to the one thing he was trying to avoid.

He was on the roof of Carmelita’s apartment building, above the open window of her apartment and he could hear her inside.

She was singing.

She was singing their song.

A song she claimed to hate.

He ran hot and then cold as his brain tried to comprehend what this meant. She had given her name as his at the dance club, she had kissed him in London, and now she was singing their song.

Reason fled, he swung himself into the open window only to pause awkwardly on the sill. What was he doing? This was her home, he should not be here, he needed to leave.

Too late.

The movement of the curtain in the still night caught Carmelita’s eye and she turned, Sly froze pinned under her gaze. She was wearing her pyjamas, a loose black singlet and shorts, her hair swept up into a messy bun, her skin flushed. Sly didn’t think he had ever wanted anything, no treasure, no prize from a job, nothing, not even the pages of the Thievius as much as he wanted her right now.

He needed to leave, fight or flight was screaming at him to run but he wanted to stay, longed to, burned to.

Carmelita was looking at him, eyes very dark. She hadn’t immediately leapt for a weapon, hadn’t screamed his name, just looked. He wondered if that was a good sign.

Finally she spoke, “well are you coming in or not?”

Slowly, stiffly he climbed off the sill, propped his cane against the wall and crossed the room.

He looked at Carmelita, “you were singing our song.”

She blushed but met his gaze, her pupils blown so wide her eyes were nearly black. “I was.” She said.

“You hate that song.”

“Maybe I don’t.” She leant back against the wall. “Maybe I don’t find the song as irritating or impossible as I’d like to.”

Sly got the feeling they weren’t talking about the song anymore.

“What are you doing here Ringtail?”

What was he doing here? 

“I don’t know.” He confessed. Should he touch her? Could he touch her? Was he allowed to touch her?

“This is my home.” She said.

“Yes. I know… I’m sorry?”

“Tell me why you’re here.” She said the same demanding tone she’d used in London when she’d asked if he was jealous. 

How did he even begin to explain the feeling that had brought him here? That he had followed some instinctual pull and landed on her doorstep (windowsill). That the memory of her tormented him, that he wanted, needed her desperately. That he thought if he didn’t have her soon he might just die.

“I missed you?” He said weakly.

She tilted her head, one ear flicking endearingly. “You missed me? That’s a terrible excuse Cooper.” She reached out, taking two handfuls of his shirt pulling him against her.

Then she was there, under his hands, all the long lines of her pressed against him. Sly tore off his gloves wanting to touch her everywhere at once, hands running frantically over her.

“You missed me?” She repeated. She moved against him, pulling one of his knees between her legs. “Tell me why you’re really here.”

He dropped his head, trying to get words out past the overwhelming, distracting pain of his arousal. “Wanted…” He gasped. “Wanted… you.”

She made a high, breathless noise and caught his face in her hands; pulling his mouth to hers, she kissed him. A hungry, passionate thing, all need and teeth. She tugged at his shirt, trying to pull it off without breaking their kiss. He stepped away, ripping it off in one fluid motion throwing it aside and lunging back into Carmelita.

“’Lita...” He groaned, “my ’Lita.”

“Sly.”

His hips bucked involuntarily at the sound of his name on her lips. 

She moaned, hooking a knee around his waist pulling him into her rhythm. She braced a hand on his shoulder lifting herself onto her toes, the other hand tangling in his hair. She was murmuring in half coherent Spanish, Sly only managed to catch a few words. Dream and want, mine and stay and please, please, please over and over.

Sly’s head spun, it was heady she was right here, she wanted him too. A few final scraps of clothing between them and she could be his, his, his. 

He faltered at that thought, god what did he do now? This wasn’t part of the game; he never actually believed he could be here, like this. Never thought he’d catch her, never thought he’d let himself be caught. 

“Bed.” She gasped in his ear.

His knees went weak, “Uhh…”

“Off.” She ordered, toes pushing at his boots. “Now.”

He kicked them off, throwing them vaguely in the direction of his shirt and took her outstretched hand. He let her lead him to her bed, let her guide his hands to remove her clothes. He let her push his unresisting form into the bed, let her climb on top of him, he tilted his head back staring up at her in reverence.

“Top drawer.” She leaned down to whisper, teeth nipping at his ear.

When all he could do was stare at her blankly she leant across him to her bedside table, after rifling through the draw he felt her press something into his hand. He looked down at the little foil packet, then back to her. 

“I don’t…” He started weakly.

She reared back, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You don’t what?”

He propped himself onto an elbow, half sitting up, “I don’t… I’ve not… I’ve never done this before.”

“Oh.” She softened, tracing her hands from his shoulders down his chest. “Oh. That’s alright, I’ll show you, let me show you.”

And so she did.

Sly thought he could die right here with a full heart, she was perfect. She was everything and she had chosen him. She wanted him to be hers.

Above him, he watched her roll her body and arch her back, her head tipping back dark curls escaping her bun to spill down her back. She was beautiful, she was so beautiful, he stuttered, lost their rhythm, was left clinging to her helplessly. 

“Here.” She pulled him up, holding him to her. “Like this.”

“Yes.” He groaned dropping his forehead to her shoulder, “oh god ‘Lita.” He shuddered.

“Stay.” She gasped. “Stay with me.”

“Yes.” He said moving again. “Yes.” He could deny her nothing. “I’ll stay, I’ll stay.”

* * *

When Carmelita woke she reached out to the other side of the bed only for her hand to close on… nothing. Her sheets were cold, empty. She was alone.

She sat up clutching the sheet to herself, not even one of his damned calling cards on her pillow as a smug sign of his victory.

He was just gone.

She closed her eyes, tucking her knees to her chest, curling her tail around herself trying to breathe around the sting of betrayal. 

Stupid, she cursed herself, stupid, stupid. She’d let herself think… let herself believe… 

What a fool she was, what a stupid woman, what a fool, fool, fool.

She slipped from the bed, picking up and donning her discarded clothes.

What had she done? 

What had she been thinking?

She had let a known criminal into her home, into her bed, had fallen asleep in his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She had fallen for his lies, fallen for his games and look what it had gotten her. She wandered into the living room and still no sign of him, no indication he had ever even been there, neither a boot mark on her windowsill, nor a mark from his cane on her wall. A clean entry and exit. How very professional of him.

Carmelita slammed her still open window shut, latched it and drew the curtains against the early morning light.

She was done.

Done being tricked, done being manipulated. Done letting this ridiculous, childish attraction compromise her.

She had made her last mistake.

She was Inspector Carmelita Montoya Fox of Interpol and she was going to catch Sly Cooper. And he was going to pay for his crimes.

All of them.

**Author's Note:**

> Oops.


End file.
